Can anyone hear us?

18

I closed my eyes, or the one that wasn't swollen, to try and clear my head. But it didn't help. I continued to see visions of the men who attacked me in the locker room.

Shaking the visions away, I stood up and walked to coach who was pointing signals to the men in outfield. The score was still zero to zero in the third inning.

"Coach, I'll be right back." I said. He eyed me warily but dismissed me.

I didn't dare go down the hallway with our locker room so I stood at the bottom of the stands directly across from first base. I heard my name being shouted and turned around to see my dad waving me over.

I walked over to where he was and he tried to say something but I couldn't hear over the crowd. My phone began to ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Aron. Why aren't you playing yet?" My dad asked.

"Ugh, because of some recent events. I'm playing after fourth inning ends."

"Ok. Good luck." I hung up. It felt weird that my dad is being nice to me now. I still wasn't used to it. A few days ago he smashed me through the wall and now this.

My phone rang again. Unknown caller. I picked it up anyways.

"Aron, hey. So, I'm surprised you got this far." My heart dropped. It was my old coach.

"What do you want?"

"Woah, woah slow down. I know you're dating Elizabeth. And I know your team could win."

"Don't you have a team to coach?" I spat.

"Yeah. But I want them to win. So when you play, I want you to lose."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll tell that you hurt one of my players during a fight. You would be suspended for a long time. Plus, police will interrogate you. And they would believe me over you in a heart beat. You could end up in jail."

"Fine." I up hung up. I can't do that. Our team has gone so far and I can't betray them. They wouldn't forgive me. But if I don't, our team will probably never play again.

My brain hurt. I've been thinking too much.

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I don't know what was up with Aron. After I let him be 'excused' he came back and has been staring at the dirt floor. The fourth inning was up in a matter of minutes and he didn't look excited.

I know it's weird but I thought of Aron as my own brother.

My son had died 3 years ago from leukemia. He was 19. So I always looked to Aron as a brother. He has always been there for me and doesn't hesitate to sacrifice himself for others. He is caring towards others. And now it's time that I help him.

"Aron, it's time for you to play." I said. The swelling in his eye has gone down showing most of his eye again.

"I know." He said gloomily.

"You have to tell me what's up. By now it's sort of freaky with the way you're acting."

"Would you forgive me if I chose to save myself, even though I knew it would hurt you?" Aron said. I thought about it for a second. Why is he asking me this?

"Yes. But do what's in your heart, rather than what's better for yourself."

"Wow. Deep." Aron chuckled.

"Get out there and pitch that ball 100 mph!" Aron jumped right up and walked on the field.

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Pitch the ball, strike out, repeat. That was the pattern I was supposed to follow. But I didn't want to end up in jail. Emotions flooded me like a roller coaster; happy, sad, mad, frustrated, worried, repeat.

I began to throw horribly, on purpose. Soon enough, the score was 3-1 away. We were losing. Thanks to me. The coach ran over to me to discuss trading out pitchers.

"Aron, what are you doing out there? I know you can do better than that."

"I know. I ju-" The coach cut me off.

"No excuses. Get your head in the game."

"But if you let me explain-" I argued.

"No! Focus!" The coach bickered.

I rubbed my fingers through my hair and groaned, frustrated.

The coach grabbed my shoulders.

"Shake out of it, Aron."

The coach ran back to the dugout as the game continued. I've made my decision.

I threw the ball, and the batter took his eyes off it. He missed.

The next one up hit it, but still got out. We switched, our turn to bat. Jake's turn. He focused on the ball, swung his bat, and the ball went bouncing down the field, allowing Jake to get on first.

Ted was up. His brow was wrinkled with concentration, sweat dropped down his nose. The ball was thrown. Ted smacked it, breaking his bat. The ball went up, up, up until it was out of the park. He happily jogged the bases along with Jake. When they got to the dugout, everyone slapped his helmet and congratulated him. The score was 3-3.

I threw the next ball, stumbling off the mound. But the batter still missed. I threw again, and my eyes widened when he smacked the ball hard with his bat. I quickly ducked to the ground to avoid being hit by the ball. He got on first.

It didn't matter because the next few pitches were all strike outs. Now it's our turn to bat. Ted was up again. The first two pitches were strikes but the next one was a home run. It sent the ball out of the park and probably into the parking lot.

The whole team ran out on the field and surrounded Ted. We had won. I was left alone in the dugout, gathering my belongings knowing I was going to jail. Going to jail because my old coach told lies about me. Going to jail for something I never did.

Suddenly, he stormed into the dugout, leaving awkward silence between him and I.